Leave it for another day, let the night get away from you. Wait until you have a minute to think, look at it under natural light. The fix is in, and you can’t repair it. The fix is in, crime only answers to crime. The sky turns in its blues for grays, the fade to black there in the cut, the imagined reasons evidence awaiting the bag. Like it or not it’s always love it or leave it. The night comes, and the only reckoning is the one you bring to the arena. The night comes, and surprise, surprise— you have no one to blame but yourself.
Nothing ever fits, no one ever stays, you better warn the buyer and wake the beast. The sky takes notes from the on high, sunlight and birdsong and the vapor traces of passing planes. The earth is tramped under foot, trodden on by track and boot, sublime and unconcerned with its latest manifestations. The sea sings and sways, full of fitful fish and sunken secrets, strewn with ships and trash. Still you fill your basket with myths and glories, as if a crown is anything other than antler envy. As if a king is anything other than the size of a candy bar.
Listen, all I do is sit near the open window. Look, all I know is what the sky lets slip. The words feast on flesh and fire, the words dance like neutrinos through these leaden hearts. The rattle of the rails, the pressure of the pipes, the banging on the hull— the tongue torn out and left bloodying up the pages. The language detached from bone and blood, entombed in slashes and scribbles, our disembodied souls awaiting decanting from some enchanted surface. Our incarnations folded in spark and light, hidden in the fabrications of copper and silicon and ghost. The unexamined life shockingly explicit, the high horse beaten savagely despite its having passed on years ago, knowing the world doesn’t know what it wants.
